Sharp As A Knife, Fit As A Glove
by NixiexGrey
Summary: A one-shot I wrote the second I finished reading the Clockwork Angel a WHILE ago based on a romance I was rooting for to happen the entire book :  Thomas/Sophie! So here's their little scene that I wished had happened but didn't.


**I just finished reading the Clockwork Angel yesterday and words cannot describe how epically amazing it is. Then it hit me: an idea so mind-boggling that I just had to write it. This FF, I **_**promise**_** DOES NOT HAVE ANY SPOILERS. It's just an idea and because of its originality, you don't know if it actually happens in the book. So you can still read this and buy the book and not have it ruined for you. The book itself is amazing and I highly, HIGHLY recommend you get it. Like, right after you finish reading this.**

Padding across the floor as silently as she could manage, Sophie tiptoed down the dimly illuminated corridor and rounded the corner to the only other source of light pooling from the halfway opened door besides the witchlight flickering from its sconce.

Braving a deep breath, Sophie leaned in closer and felt her breath catch at the very sight of him; he was standing, his back to her with his shirt off, as he busied himself with one of Henry's swords. She took advantage of this opportunity and, with Miss Gray's words in mind, forced herself to scrutinize him.

With his shaggy hair that fell unkempt in front of his eyes, the contour of his muscles as he pretended to lash out at an invisible demon, the blade singing as it swooped in an arc before sinking downwards into what Sophie supposed was the demon's heart. He _was_ a sight to see, Sophie realized with a sinking feeling. How could she have been so blinded to not see that in the first place?

Deciding she could no longer simply watch him, Sophie knocked on the door twice and took a step back so that if he did answer, he would not be startled by her proximity. She waited a moment and pictured in her head him stumbling since she'd caught him off-guard with a smile on her face.

Wiping the sweat off of his brow, Thomas gently set aside the broadsword and opened the door, feeling the blood rush to his face the instant he saw Sophie standing in the corridor.

"'Lo, Miss Sophie," Thomas stammered, cursing himself for being such a blabbering fool. "How can I be of service t'ya?"

From the moment her eyes met Thomas', Sophie knew that what Miss Gray had said had been true; he couldn't even meet her gaze without looking away the next second later. And the delicious shade of red his face turned that Jessamine would kill to have in makeup form was the cherry on the cake. He _fancied_ her, more than she ever knew before. But now that she did…what did that mean for her?

"Please," she smiled. "Just Sophie." She felt her cheeks burn when Thomas smiled at the mention of her Christian name and added, "I am not in need of any service at the moment, just some company–if you do not mind?"

"Not at all, Sophie," Thomas smiled again, his heart soaring just by saying her name. If only she knew what she did to him, if only she felt the same…

Storing away that thought for another time, he stepped aside to let her into the weaponry room. He knew this was no place for a girl of her stature unless she was assisting him, but he couldn't think of anywhere else to go. He just wanted to be alone with her, to spend some time to get to _know_ her better.

"So how are the weapons coming along?" Sophie asked, just to fill the awkward void between them. Truth be told, she held nary a sliver of interest in weaponry. But she knew it was something Thomas was passionate about and kept silent while he blabbered on about the different blades and his personal favorites, nodding when it was appropriate.

"You haven't the sligh'est idea wha' I'm talkin' about, d'ya?" he chuckled. "It's a'right, I understan'. How's the Misses' doin'?"

"You know Jessamine," Sophie said with a roll of her eyes. "Always complaining. Charlotte, well, she's worried about Henry the same. Tessa seems to be…nice." Realizing the upcoming segue, she paused and took a deep breath. "Actually, that's why I'm here."

When all Thomas did was raise an inquiring eyebrow, she went on. "Miss Gray, well, she…er, told me something. I just wanted to confirm it with you."

"Really now?" Thomas reached up with one hand and rubbed it across his stubbly jaw. In the back of her mind, Sophie wondered when was the last time he'd shave or cut his hair. He was in desperate need of a trim. "Well, go on then. Ask away."

Sophie stared down at her hands instead of his face as she said, "It's quite all right. I already have my answer, you see."

Thomas tilted his head to the side, not comprehending how she'd managed that without bringing forth a single question. And the more he thought about it, the more he felt his face flush with embarrassment. What had he say that tipped her off? Or was it something he'd done?

"I'm not following," Thomas admitted. "Wha' do ya mean?"

Sophie hesitated. How could she convey Miss Gray's words to him, so that he'd understand, without knowing how she truly felt about him? She had to admit, he was quite the looker and was very charming when he wanted to be, but he wasn't what she truly wanted…

"Thomas, would you mind if I…?" Sophie began, but stopped when Thomas shook his head–the poor boy just wasn't following. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them before she could lose her nerve and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. Willing him to understand that this was just a test–to see how she would react to him, nothing personal–she closed her eyes and braced herself.

Thomas finally understood. She wanted him to, was _allowing_ him to, and he seized the opportunity before she could change her mind. He leaned forward so that his forehead touched hers and gently brushed his lips against hers. She tasted even better than his wildest dreams could portray; sweet like sugar, addicting like tobacco.

With newfound drive, Thomas placed his hands on each side of her waist and pulled her flush against him, pouring every ounce of his long dormant feelings for her into the kiss. He yearned her to know that this wasn't just some silly dalliance, that his feelings were _real_ and _true_. He longed for more, like an opium addict that was aware of his dwindling supply, but had to fight to restrain himself.

With one last burning kiss that he committed to memory, Thomas released her. Taking a step backwards and crossing his arms behind him to keep them from lashing out on their own accord, Thomas focused on the stonewall and imagined the chilly stones pressing against his body to keep him cool and collected.

Sophie gasped audibly once he let her go; never in all her years had she experienced something quite like _that_. It was messy, unexpected, completely reckless…and _lovely, passionate, chaotic all at once_. Sophie clearly had no idea to what caliber did Thomas fancy her. And that scared her the most: what to do now that she knew?

"Well," Sophie prompted, glad her voice didn't waver and give her away. She smoothed the front of her apron and adjusted her bonnet to busy herself so that Thomas couldn't see her surely red face. "Um…"

"Sophie," Thomas pleaded, braving a step forward. He _finally_ had her, after all these years. How could she just turn around and act like nothing went on between them? He wasn't going to lose her; he simply could not afford to.

"I've got things to do, Thomas," she sighed, looking up at him. "I've got to help Agatha prepare dinner. Please, just…let me go." Without a second glance, Sophie turned on her heel and walked briskly out the door, leaving Thomas alone in the weaponry room. She swallowed audibly, focusing on anything but Thomas to keep herself from turning right around and storming back in there to be with him. She was being irrational and needed space to _think_. She just hoped Thomas would understand that.


End file.
